


Makeover of the Daleks

by DameRuth



Category: Doctor Who: The Curse of Fatal Death
Genre: Crack, Dated but hopefully not insensitive, Emma is a third wheel and not happy about it, F/M, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24410926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameRuth/pseuds/DameRuth
Summary: Within find sensitive Daleks, a female Doctor, an un-Masterly Master, and some stuff that I shudder to admit mademelaugh.
Relationships: Emma (Fatal Death)/original character, Past Emma/Doctor references, Thirteenth Doctor (Fatal Death)/The Master (Pryce)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	Makeover of the Daleks

**Author's Note:**

> New Author's Note: I'm working on importing my old Teaspoon content - none of text body has been re-edited, so take it as it is, and may I not embarrass myself. Originally posted 2007.05.01, and may show its age.
> 
> Original Author's Note: (Dead link to YouTube for Curse of Fatal Death deleted). 
> 
> FWIW, I ended up writing this Doctor as a cross between Ten and Patsy from AbFab.  
> 

Emma sat cross-legged on her bed, watching the Doctor model her latest outfit, and sighed.  
  
"The Doctor" and "her." It had been a week, and those terms still didn't seem right together. However, there was no getting around it: this regeneration was female -- and then some.  
  
Currently, the Doctor's outfit consisted of a red-and-black floral patterned burnout velvet corset, skintight black jeans, and a pair of thigh-high black leather boots with astonishingly tall spike heels. Emma had to admit, it did do a good job of showing off the Doctor's new, leggy, blonde body, although . . .  
  
"It looks a bit, well, goth," Emma commented. It seemed kinder than the other description which sprang to mind -- namely "cheap."  
  
"Goth?'" the Doctor repeated absently. She was twisting around, trying to get a good look over her shoulder at the effect the jeans had on her bum. She teetered rather dangerously on the heels, but managed to keep her balance. "Nonsense, darling -- the Goths were all about wool and fur and dreadful personal hygiene. Not a corset in sight."  
  
Female or not, it was still definitely the Doctor in there. Emma sighed again.  
  
Until that run-in with the Master and the Daleks, Emma had been blissfully happy, deeply in love with the Doctor, and had expected to get married and settle down to a domestic life of raising Time Tots.  
  
Unfortunately, _that_ little dream had gone straight down the sewers, following an untimely energy burst and the Doctor's regeneration into her current form. Emma'd been ready to pack it all in and go home right then -- had been desperate to, in fact -- but the Doctor had managed to wheedle her into staying with the TARDIS for a while longer.  
  
"Please, Emma!" she'd said, batting her eyes in a way that had once gotten Emma to agree to just about anything, but which she now found disconcerting, to say the least. "Oh, do stay, sweetie! You can't desert your best chum right after something as major as a sex change, can you? And I could really use a native guide! This is all new to me -- well, at least from the _inside_ \-- and you'd be ever so much help . . ."  
  
Emma had rubbed her forehead to stave off the headache she could feel coming on, and had agreed.  
  
After all, the Doctor was still the Doctor, and while Emma might no longer feel any desire to continue the physical side of their relationship, they _had_ been best friends for a long time, even before they'd ended up in bed together. It wasn't like the Doctor had chosen this form on purpose . . .  
  
. . . Though she was throwing herself into the whole Female Experience with abandon, now she was there. It was, Emma had to admit, a predictably Doctorish reaction.  
  
"You know," the Doctor was saying now, continuing her gyrations in front of the mirror, "I used to just throw an outfit together after each of my regenerations, but now I'm finding it so much _harder_ to settle on just one look . . . and shoes, darling! I had no _idea_ how interesting shoes could be. Heels are so much _fun_ I don't know why I never wore them before!"  
  
She executed a surprisingly graceful pirouette, and Emma couldn't help but be jealous -- she'd had a lifetime of dealing with heels, and she'd have broken her neck trying that move in those boots. "It's like wearing stilts, all the time, in public! I feel like a little boy again." The Doctor chuckled, a throaty, seductively feminine sound that made her last comment even more surreal than it might have been.  
  
"Not to mention the effect they have on dear Koschei-woshei," she continued, her voice dropping to a deeper, sultrier register than before. The Doctor ran a sensual hand up her leather-clad thigh. "I think he'll _quite_ like this look. The poor dear has such a leather fetish! Not that I didn't suspect it all along, of course . . ."  
  
And there was another reason Emma wasn't thrilled about staying on. Now that Koschei -- aka The Master -- had renounced his former evil ways he and the new Doctor had hit it off . . . _really well._ Feeling very much the third wheel, Emma had been trying to avoid finding out _how_ well, but the Doctor wasn't helping any.  
  
Like now . . .  
  
“He does love his kinks — but I can give as good as I get. “ The Doctor chuckled again, running a hand through her thick, blonde hair in a familiar gesture — though now the fingernails on that hand were long and fire-engine red. “Y’ know that little thing you used to do with your hips?” She shimmied illustratively. “Well, that just drives him . . . :  
  
“Ack! Ick! No, stop! _Way_ too much information, Doctor!”  
  
The Doctor blinked at Emma’s horrified expression, then sighed, and looked down at her pointy black-leather toes. She crossed the room in two leggy strides and plopped down on the edge of the bed. All the feminine wiggle and seduction had gone out of her, and now she was just . . . the Doctor.  
  
“I’m sorry, love — I’ve upset you, and I’m not sure how,” she said, sadly. “I just wanted to let you know how much I admired the way you were, well, a girl, and I was trying to use what I’d learned from you.” She snorted. “I’m not sure how good I’ll be at this. Sometimes I feel like a right failure at bird-ness, other times I think I’m turning into a walking stereotype . . .”  
  
She sounded genuinely dejected. Emma sighed, and scooted forward so she was sitting on the edge of the bed, next to her former fiancé.  
  
“You’ll be fine,” Emma told her. “I’m sorry — it’s still strange for me, too, and I don’t think I’ll _ever_ adjust to it, really. But you’re still you -- just with a different polarity. And there’s nothing you can’t figure out.”  
  
“A different polarity — ha! I like that. Me and the neutron flow . . . “ She turned to smile at Emma. “Thanks, though — means a lot that you believe in me. You’re a fantastic chum, y’know that? Can’t think of a better one, ever.”  
  
Emma couldn’t help smiling back.  
  
The Doctor’s grin widened conspiratorially. “You know what I feel like? Chocolate! I think I’ve got a stash left that Koschei doesn’t know about. I swear, that man has no respect for a girl’s belongings. I never realized how much work you ladies put into civilizing us . . . I mean _them_ . . .”  
  
She bounced to her feet, still chattering, and Emma followed willingly enough. That was one good thing about the Doctor’s transformation — the quality of chocolate available onboard the TARDIS had positively skyrocketed.  
  
\--  
  
They had just split the last piece of 60% cacao ultra-dark premium chocolate (with macadamia nuts) when The Master arrived in the galley, bleary and rumpled in his black and silver bathrobe, with an impressive case of bed-head and morning whiskers. Without managing a single articulate word (though he grunted a little), he tottered to the counter and started coffee brewing.  
  
The Doctor licked the last crumbs of chocolate from her fingers and eyed her fellow Time Lord consideringly.  
  
“Blimey,” she whispered in a dry undertone to Emma. “That’s a change. First morning here, he was up at the crack of dawn and made me breakfast. Now it’s noon, and breakfast is clearly not to be. The honeymoon’s over — and here I’d hoped it’d last for at _least_ a month.”  
  
Emma snorted, still buzzed from the chocolate, and buried her face in her crossed arms to keep the sound of her amusement from carrying.  
  
The Master, oblivious, plunked himself down at the table with a steaming mug of coffee, which he somehow managed to sip out of without dribbling, despite having only one eye halfway open. His robe was gapped slightly at the chest, and a faint metallic gleam was visible, along with a rather un-masculine set of curves.  
  
“And that reminds me of another issue . . .” the Doctor murmured to Emma.  
  
More loudly, she addressed the Master in a sugary tone of voice. “Koschei, darling, I’ve been thinking . . . “  
  
He sipped his coffee. “Will wonders never cease?” he grumbled to his mug in an ill-tempered voice.  
  
“A-hem!” The Doctor tapped one long, red nail sharply on the tabletop. “Remember, darling, _allies_ , now!” Her voice had suddenly gone steely.  
  
The Master blinked at her as if coming fully awake, and his expression went wary and submissive. “Sorry, darling, allies, yes . . .” he mumbled, and sipped his coffee defensively. “Go on . . .”  
  
“I’ve been _thinking_ ,” the Doctor continued, switching mostly back to sweetness, “those Dalek bumps of yours simply _must_ go. They’re dreadfully uncomfortable when we . . . well, it’s just very inefficient to have both of us pointy in the same places.”  
  
“What?! I can’t give up my bumps! They’re my _etheric beam locators,_ woman!” the Master countered, with a fair attempt at an indignant roar, given that he’d just woken up.  
  
“Oh, get real darling. How often do you need to locate etheric beams, I mean, seriously?” the Doctor asked reasonably.  
  
“Well . . .” the Master stalled, looking stubborn.  
  
The Doctor considered him for a moment, and then shrugged.  
  
“Oh, all right then,” she said, with an offhand tone. “If you don’t want to get rid of your bumps, I’ll just have to get rid of mine. Pity, I was quite fond of them, and I thought you were, too. But I’ll just set the TARDIS to take me to the nearest reputable plastic surgeon . . .” She made as if to stand, but the Master caught her wrist.  
  
“What?! No, you can’t get rid of your . . .! Please, let’s reconsider this!” He seemed genuinely upset.  
  
The Doctor managed to keep her reaction to a tiny little smile -- not a smirk at all, really. She sat back down. “Yes,” she said amiably. “Let’s . . .”  
  
Emma buried her face back in her arms to hide her own smirk. Oh, the Doctor was going to do _just fine_ in her new life, no doubt about it.  
  
\--  
  
Negotiations concluded, they were in the control room, and the Doctor was setting coordinates. “I think we’ll pop in on the dear little pepperpots a few years down the line, their time. That’ll let us check up and see how well they’re keeping to their promise to reform . . .” she said, to nobody in particular.  
  
“I wouldn’t trust them,” the Master said. He was shaven, caffeinated, and dressed sleekly in black now. His voice held a smooth, disdainful tone of superiority.  
  
“Well, yes, but you don’t trust _anybody_ , sweetie,” the Doctor pointed out reasonably. “Here we are! Let’s go say hello, shall we?”  
  
She strode confidently out the TARDIS doors in her spike-heeled boots, which the Master had indeed been giving admiring glances — though Emma noticed that those heels also made the Doctor ever so slightly taller than the Master himself. She wondered with amusement if he’d noticed _that_ particular tidbit.  
  
They stepped out to face a horde of metallic pepperpots, all of which had their eyestalks pointed expectantly in their direction.  
  
“IT IS THE DOC-TOR!” they shrilled, and Emma nearly bolted back into the TARDIS. But then, instead of firing, each and every one of them spread their plunger and gun attachment as widely as possible and began advancing.  
  
“EM-BRACE! EM-BRACE! EM- _BRACE_ ” they screamed.  
  
After a moment’s stunned stillness, the Doctor was the first to move. She strode forward and gave the nearest Dalek an emphatic hug. “That’s right, sweetie!” she said. “You give the Doctor a big hug, now! Come on, then,” she called over her shoulder, “don’t disappoint the dears!”  
  
Rather more hesitantly, Emma and the Master followed the Doctor’s example.  
  
After everyone had been properly hugged (Emma, with her chest sore, now fully understood why the Doctor wanted the Master to lose his own Dalek accessories), the Doctor got down to business.  
  
“Lovely to see you all again, darlings. We wanted to see if you could un-modify old Koschei a bit — take away those Dalek bumps you gave him. It was a lovely thought, but they just seem to keep getting in the way . . .”  
  
“YES! WE CAN AS-SIST!” the apparent lead Dalek told her, waving its plunger cheerfully. “AN-Y-THING FOR OUR FRIEND THE DOC-TOR! WE O-BEY!”  
  
“Thanks ever so much — Koschei, you go with the nice Daleks, they’ll fix you up in . . . how long do you think it will take, sweetheart?”  
  
“NO MORE THAN AN HOUR. DAL-EKS ARE E-FIC-CIENT. WE AL-SO TAKE BLUE CROSS NOW.”  
  
“I say, that is handy! Well, while we wait, why don’t we get caught up? How are things, now that you’re reformed and all?” the Doctor asked warmly.  
  
“ALL IS WELL! WE ARE BREAK-ING NEW GROUND IN NICE-NESS,” the lead Dalek assured her. “BUT . . .” it broke off and its plunger and gun attachment drooped sadly. “. . . PEO-PLE ARE STILL A-FRAID OF US. THEY RUN BE-FORE WE CAN BE NICE TO THEM. THEY THINK WE WILL SHOOT THEM. E-VEN THOUGH WE HAVE DIS-ABLED ALL OF OUR WEA-PONS.”  
  
The rest of the Daleks drooped dejectedly in agreement.  
  
The Doctor clicked her tongue sympathetically. “Oh, that is depressing. But you did spend a lot of years shooting at everyone — you have to give them time to adjust, you know.” Then she looked curious. “If you’ve disconnected your weapons, why do you still have your gun attachments, then?”  
  
The lead Dalek brightened — or, at least, drooped a little less. “WE FIND THEY MAKE WON-DER-FUL WHISKS. THEY ARE PER-FECT FOR BAK-ING CAKES!”  
  
The other Daleks nodded their eyestalks enthusiastically.  
  
“AL-THOUGH,” one of the Daleks commented, “BRUCE WAS A LIT-TLE SLOW ONE DAY, AND FOR-GOT HIM-SELF.” It snickered. “HE WENT A-ROUND OF-FER-ING PE-OPLE ‘CAKE OR DEATH’.”  
  
“HEY!” said another Dalek, presumably Bruce, “OLD HAB-ITS DIE HARD! _YOU_ ASKED THAT ONE LADY IF SHE WAN-TED ONE LUMP OR TO BE EX-TER-MIN-AT-ED!”  
  
“Er, yes,” the Doctor said, breaking in. “I think you lot are doing a jolly fine job of reforming -- I’m really proud of you. And if you keep being nice, people will eventually stop being afraid . . .”  
  
“AC-TU-AL-LY,” the head Dalek said, rather shyly. “WE HAVE A PLAN.”  
  
“IT IS A VERY CUN-NING PLAN,” Bruce added.  
  
“SHUT UP, BRUCE. AN-Y-WAY, DOC-TOR, WE ARE AT-TEMPT-ING TO AL-TER OUR AP-PEAR-ANCE, BY RE-EN-GI-NEER-ING THE DALEK RACE TO BE AS WE ONCE WERE.”  
  
“You mean, you’re turning yourself back into humanoid Kaleds?” the Doctor asked, genuinely interested. “Why that _is_ lovely news. How’s it coming along?”  
  
The lead Dalek made shy little “aw, shucks” motions with its plunger. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE OUR PROTOTYPE?”  
  
“Absolutely!”  
  
“SEND FOR LAR-RY!” the head Dalek commanded. Then it sidled a little closer to the Doctor and said, in as much of an undertone as a Dalek could manage, “HE IS NOT PER-FECT — HE RE-SEM-BLES THE OLD IM-AGES AND RE-COR-DINGS WE HAVE, BUT HE IS NOT QUITE NOR-MAL FROM WHAT WE CAN TELL.”  
  
Emma swallowed surreptitiously. She wondered what “not quite normal” meant coming from a Dalek. She hoped Larry wasn’t some appallingly deformed mutant, and, if he was, that she could manage a polite reaction.  
  
Just then the door opened, and Larry entered.  
  
Emma’s jaw dropped — as did the Doctor’s. “Guh!” they said, in perfect unison.  
  
Larry was blond, tanned, buffed, gorgeous, perfectly proportioned — and stark naked.  
  
“Hello,” he said, walking up to Emma and giving her a shy sweet smile. His voice was a warm, velvety baritone. “Will you be my friend?” He held out a perfectly manicured hand.  
  
The Doctor recovered first, and she shot a shrewd, sidelong glance at her Companion.  
  
Emma gaped a moment longer, then her jaw snapped shut with an audible click. “Will I _ever_!” she gasped, and grabbed Larry’s hand.  
  
He smiled happily at Emma, and she broke into a sudden goofy, dazed, and thoroughly infatuated grin.  
  
The Doctor’s eyes narrowed consideringly, and a small, sly smile began to spread across her lips.  
  
“I say,” she asked the lead Dalek. “Would you like a consultant? A humanoid who could work with you to, er, perfect your engineering program, maybe, ah, re-train your new people in . . . various aspects of culture and, er, interpersonal interactions?”  
  
“YES!” the Dalek responded enthusiastically. “THAT WOULD BE _MOST_ HELP-FUL!”  
  
“Emma, darling . . .” the Doctor began, but neither Emma nor Larry gave her the slightest notice, being absorbed in grinning sappily at each other. She snapped her fingers a couple of times. “Emma!”  
  
“Oh, yes, sorry, Doctor, what?” Emma asked, giving the Doctor half of her attention, and keeping her hold on Larry’s hand.  
  
“How would you like to stay here and work with the Daleks and their humanoid engineering program? I’m guessing you’d be, er, doing a lot with Larry, and his brothers-to-be . . .”  
  
That earned her Emma’s full attention, and the girl’s face lit up with enthusiasm. “Oh, Doctor, that would be _wonderful_ . . . !”  
  
“WE ALSO OF-FER A VER-Y COM-PET-I-TIVE BEN-E-FITS PAC-KAGE,” the head Dalek offered helpfully.  
  
“Well, there you go! Emma, I think you’ve got yourself a job! D’you want to go pack up your things?”  
  
“Yes Doctor! Right away!” Emma looked up at Larry. “I’ll be _right back_ ,” she promised him earnestly.  
  
“Please hurry!” he said plaintively, with big sad puppy-dog eyes.  
  
Emma made a solid bid at breaking the ladies’ 100-yard dash record in her haste to reach the TARDIS.  
  
\--  
  
While Emma packed up, the Doctor went in search of Koschei. The head Dalek had said his surgery _should_ have been completed a while ago, but he still hadn’t returned . . .  
  
Following the directions to the infirmary, the Doctor turned a corner, and could hear a Dalek speaking, followed by a response in Koschei’s familiar voice.  
  
“THESE ARE OUR CON-CEPT SKETCH-ES FOR THE NEW FE-MALE KAL-EDS. WHAT DO YOU THINK?” the Dalek voice asked.  
  
“Guh!” Koschei responded, and the Doctor’s eyes narrowed. She quickened her pace, stiletto heels clicking firmly on the tiled floor.  
  
She reached an open door, and looked in. Koschei sat, fully clothed (and obviously completely recovered) on a hospital bed, holding a sheaf of papers. He leafed through them with a look of stunned delight on his face.  
  
“Oh, these are nice!” he breathed. “ _Very_ nice . . .” he stopped and turned the sheaf of papers sideways. “ . . . Especially _her_ ”  
  
“A-HEM!” the Doctor said from the doorway.  
  
Koschei jerked, and turned a guilty grin in her direction. “Oh, there you are, Doctor.”  
  
“Yes. Here I am,” she said, her voice gone to solid ice, shading quickly down in the direction of full Oncoming Storm mode. “Are you ready to go?”  
  
“Er, yes, quite!” Koschei guiltily straightened the papers he held, and passed them off to the Dalek, hopping off the bed and heading for the exit as quickly as possible.  
  
As he drew even with the Doctor, she grabbed his ear between the bright red nails of her thumb and forefinger.  
  
“Come along, darling,” she told him, in the tones that had made dictators throughout history tremble in their shoes. She dug in her nails just enough to ensure his complete obedience, and began towing him in the direction of the TARDIS.  
  
\--  
  
When they arrived, Emma had a pile of hastily-packed suitcases tumbled at her feet, and was again gazing up at Larry’s face in happy-sappy adoration. They were holding _both_ hands now, the Doctor noticed with some amusement.  
  
She walked Koschei to the TARDIS and shoved him in through the doors. “Won’t be a moment, sweetie,” she told him in a tone of utter command.  
  
Then she turned and walked back to Emma.  
  
“Well, Emma, I guess this is goodbye, at least for now,” she said, suddenly sad to realize how much she’d miss her friend.  
  
“What? Oh, yes, it is.” Emma disentangled herself from Larry for a moment, her expression clearly indicating the same realization. “Oh, it was wonderful, all of it, even if the wedding didn’t work out!”  
  
“WED-DING?” one of the Daleks commented off to the side, in a tone of some consternation.  
  
“I TOLD YOU THE DOC-TOR WENT BOTH WAYS. YOU OWE ME A FIV-ER,” Bruce said smugly.  
  
“SHUT UP, BRUCE.”  
  
“Yes, sweetie, it was wonderful, and I’ll miss you terribly. But I’ll be back — I can stop by in, oh, about a year your time, see how things are going . . .”  
  
  
  
“I’d like that,” Emma said, meaning it. “Goodbye, Doctor!”  
  
They hugged, tearfully, and then the Doctor turned and strode to the TARDIS. She gave Emma one last, cheery wave, closed the door, and was gone.  
  
“Right!” Emma said, when the last echoes of dematerialization had faded, turning back to Larry. “Now _this_ is what I call a brave new world . . . !”  
  
\--  
  
In the TARDIS control room, the Doctor had the Master backed against the console in a passionate kiss, taking full advantage of the extra height her boots gave her.  
  
They came up for air, and the Doctor grinned at her former worst enemy, eyes dark with promise. “So, my darling Koschei-woshi — we have the TARDIS to ourselves. What shall we do first . . . ?”  
  
“Oh, I don’t know, my little Theta-weta . . .” he began playfully — and then trailed off. The Doctor’s eyes were still dark, but suddenly it wasn’t with promise.  
  
“ _What_ did you just call me?” she rumbled dangerously.  
  
“Er, my little . . . Theta . . . weta . . .” the Master squeaked.  
  
“Well, in the future, ix-nay on the Eta-thay, _sweetie_. I haven’t been called that since I was a weedy teenaged geek covered in spots, and it’s _not_ my favorite sobriquet. You’ll do well to remember that . . .” She leaned forward as she spoke, until the Master was bent backwards over the control panel, only keeping his balance because her lower body was pressing into his.  
  
“Yes! Of course . . . Doctor! I’ll call you whatever you want, really . . .!” the Master told her, on the edge of babbling.  
  
The Doctor smiled, showing a mouthful of very white and even teeth.  
  
“Right now, I think I’m in the mood to be the On _com_ ing Storm, if you get my drift, sweetie,” she purred. “Let’s see about taking care of that, shall we?”  
  
Taking the Master’s ear between thumb and forefinger, the Doctor led him off into the waiting depths of the TARDIS.  
  


* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=12012>


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